Read Online By the Silver Wind by Jess E. Owen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jess E. Owen
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expected me to tell my father to stand down, to accept friendship and simply live in peace?”
Ragna could only watch him with a long, quiet look. “Yes.” Having looked ready to laugh at the very idea, instead he ground his beak and turned away, pacing back up to his nest as if to avoid her simple answer.
Ragna took one step forward. “Yes, that is what I expected. You didn’t come here to conquer. By your own admission, you fled a nightmare in your own land. Baldr offered you friendship, a new home, sanctuary. But . . .” She stopped. But, everyone knew what happened after that.
Sverin didn’t look away, and his eyes searched her, critically. “I cannot change what my father did, what I did. I cannot change Baldr’s death, Elena’s death, nor the regret, the pain and the wrongs I brought on this pride to protect myself. But I have confessed, and that has cleared my mind. I will confess to Rashard, to Kjorn, and ask their forgiveness. I grieve. I regret, and to an extent you cannot understand. What more do you want from me? All I ask is food to sustain me.”
Where was this sense of reason ten years ago? Or five? Or this winter, in those last moments before Einarr had to die? She wanted to slash his eyes and ask him, to scream eagle’s fury and run the sun back so they could relive those horrible days with this new, quiet, sane red gryfon as king.
When she said no more, his eyes narrowed, and she knew he was trying to read her expression. Then he turned away, tail flicking once. “What will you do, if no one will hunt with you?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“You haven’t decided, then. Well enough.”
“Self-pity doesn’t become you, son of Per. Rest assured we will provide for you.”
He paused, eyed her over his shoulder, then turned twice in his nest, clawing up furs and sticks and discarding golden bracers and chains, then settled heavily. Lying that way, where it was hard to see that his wings were bound, he still managed a trace of majesty, with his feathers that matched his rubies, his eyes that matched his gold.
Ragna tilted her head, thinking of how young he’d looked when he’d first arrived with his pride. Thinking how much older, brittle and lost she’d felt, watching Baldr fall to his death in the sea. The Conquering had aged all of them.
Sverin returned her gaze, measuring, and Ragna said the next thing on her mind. “Elena brought out the best in you. Even I saw that. I sometimes wonder,” she said thoughtfully, “what sort of king you might have been, if only you had stood up to your father and followed your own heart, if only it hadn’t drowned in the sea with Elena.”
If the observation stung, he didn’t show it. He inclined his head. Ragna turned to leave.
“Funny,” his voice carried only to her, not the sentries at the entrance. “I sometimes wonder what sort of gryfess you might have been, if only you hadn’t died with Baldr.”
Ragna stopped, feeling as though her backbone locked, and with every muscle she resisted the urge to look back at him. She kept walking, and had just opened her wings to take off when Halvden’s voice made her pause.
“My lady.”
The address, from one who didn’t truly recognize her as a queen, made her look at him. He stood stiffly, with his head low in forced respect. “I have no great skill, but I did learn this autumn. If you wish, I will hunt with you.”
Ragna gazed at him, wings still open. Perhaps some of Caj’s tutelage had sunk in at last. This gryfon, who’d sworn a wingbrother vow to Sverin, look determined to honor it even though Sverin no longer acknowledged him.
“I accept,” Ragna said, though she wondered how well they would work together. “Find Tollack to take your place here, and meet me in half a mark on the Star Cliff.”
“My lady,” Vald said from his place, several paces away. His feathers looked like true fire against the snow. “I don’t think he’ll try to escape.”
Ragna
Ragna could only watch him with a long, quiet look. “Yes.” Having looked ready to laugh at the very idea, instead he ground his beak and turned away, pacing back up to his nest as if to avoid her simple answer.
Ragna took one step forward. “Yes, that is what I expected. You didn’t come here to conquer. By your own admission, you fled a nightmare in your own land. Baldr offered you friendship, a new home, sanctuary. But . . .” She stopped. But, everyone knew what happened after that.
Sverin didn’t look away, and his eyes searched her, critically. “I cannot change what my father did, what I did. I cannot change Baldr’s death, Elena’s death, nor the regret, the pain and the wrongs I brought on this pride to protect myself. But I have confessed, and that has cleared my mind. I will confess to Rashard, to Kjorn, and ask their forgiveness. I grieve. I regret, and to an extent you cannot understand. What more do you want from me? All I ask is food to sustain me.”
Where was this sense of reason ten years ago? Or five? Or this winter, in those last moments before Einarr had to die? She wanted to slash his eyes and ask him, to scream eagle’s fury and run the sun back so they could relive those horrible days with this new, quiet, sane red gryfon as king.
When she said no more, his eyes narrowed, and she knew he was trying to read her expression. Then he turned away, tail flicking once. “What will you do, if no one will hunt with you?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“You haven’t decided, then. Well enough.”
“Self-pity doesn’t become you, son of Per. Rest assured we will provide for you.”
He paused, eyed her over his shoulder, then turned twice in his nest, clawing up furs and sticks and discarding golden bracers and chains, then settled heavily. Lying that way, where it was hard to see that his wings were bound, he still managed a trace of majesty, with his feathers that matched his rubies, his eyes that matched his gold.
Ragna tilted her head, thinking of how young he’d looked when he’d first arrived with his pride. Thinking how much older, brittle and lost she’d felt, watching Baldr fall to his death in the sea. The Conquering had aged all of them.
Sverin returned her gaze, measuring, and Ragna said the next thing on her mind. “Elena brought out the best in you. Even I saw that. I sometimes wonder,” she said thoughtfully, “what sort of king you might have been, if only you had stood up to your father and followed your own heart, if only it hadn’t drowned in the sea with Elena.”
If the observation stung, he didn’t show it. He inclined his head. Ragna turned to leave.
“Funny,” his voice carried only to her, not the sentries at the entrance. “I sometimes wonder what sort of gryfess you might have been, if only you hadn’t died with Baldr.”
Ragna stopped, feeling as though her backbone locked, and with every muscle she resisted the urge to look back at him. She kept walking, and had just opened her wings to take off when Halvden’s voice made her pause.
“My lady.”
The address, from one who didn’t truly recognize her as a queen, made her look at him. He stood stiffly, with his head low in forced respect. “I have no great skill, but I did learn this autumn. If you wish, I will hunt with you.”
Ragna gazed at him, wings still open. Perhaps some of Caj’s tutelage had sunk in at last. This gryfon, who’d sworn a wingbrother vow to Sverin, look determined to honor it even though Sverin no longer acknowledged him.
“I accept,” Ragna said, though she wondered how well they would work together. “Find Tollack to take your place here, and meet me in half a mark on the Star Cliff.”
“My lady,” Vald said from his place, several paces away. His feathers looked like true fire against the snow. “I don’t think he’ll try to escape.”
Ragna
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